


Feathers of Slate

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Child Abuse, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, POV John Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8031217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: John tries to reconcile with the fact that he's left Dean in the ER. Quite possibly both the best and the worst decision of his life.
Written for HC-Bingo - Mercy Killing





	Feathers of Slate

It was simultaneously the best and the worst thing John Winchester felt he had ever done. As the Impala raced across the state line from Minnesota into Iowa, the crushing guilt of what he was leaving behind ebbed a little. He had left Dean, battered and beaten in that ER for a dozen reasons, and first and foremost was that because deep down, he knew that if his son remained with him, the boy would be dead before his tenth birthday this January. 

Abandoning him was not an excuse for his crimes against Dean. It wasn't even something he could atone for. This reprieve of clarity, it would be gone soon and he would bury the pain of this and what he had done away in drink and in blood. 

When had it started? How had it started? 

John can't remember the first time his son knew the pain of his hand, of his rage... Somehow, the good man that he had once been was gone and was replaced by a hollow construct that took his anger out on his precious, beautiful son and did not see what was before him.

Not until Dean put that gun to the side of his head and had been a breath away from pulling the trigger.

John Winchester was a monster and he knew it.

It's been three hours and by now, Dean is most likely tucked into a warm bed in that hospital, wounds bandaged and cleaned, slumbering away in a what John hopes is a blessedly peaceful and dreamless rest. While around him authority figures try to put the pieces of his past together, search for relations – something. Since his father has no fixed address, he'll fade into the shadows, dismissed as a worthless drifter who beat the shit out of his son and left him for dead in the ER.

He left his son so that his son might live. 

A groan comes from the backseat and he flicked his eyes to the rear-view in time to see Sam push the blanket around him aside and look to the other side of the passenger seat. “Where's Dean?”

“Dean's very sick.” The lie that's not a total lie fell from John's mouth with ease. He lies so often these days, it's more or less his nature. “He has to stay in the hospital for a while.” 

Sam frowned and rubs his nose. He doesn't seem awake enough to question his father and quite honestly, John's certain his youngest is oblivious to the fact that his brother's been repeatedly beaten black and blue by the same man he clearly adores. The boy may be clever, but he could also be strangely detached from everything that doesn't directly affect him. For the past five years, it had been Dean, not John, who had fed, dressed, and taken care of Sam. No doubt covering up bruises, scrapes and other marks with little lies, not wanting his brother to know that the man who was Dean Winchester's father and the man who was Sam Winchester's father were two vastly different people. 

If Mary wasn't dead, she would kill him in a heartbeat. 

She would have killed him years ago. 

Sam chuffs again from the backseat, and his bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “I'm hungry and I gotta use the bathroom.” 

John let out a weak laugh as he noted them passing a sign that says there's a rest area in a mile. “Can you hold it for a few more minutes?”

“Uh huh. Are we gonna go back for Dean?” The boy worked on rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Not anytime soon.” He lets out a silent sigh. _Never. We're never going back for Dean_. He shook his head. “You've been asleep for hours, kiddo, slept almost all night long.” 

“I'm not in trouble for falling asleep in front of the TV, am I Dad?” Sam yawns as they take the ramp off of the highway, heading up to the rest area. 

John frowned. He'd nearly forgotten that when he'd come into the motel room Sammy had been asleep on the couch, with a rerun of _M*A*S*H_ blaring on the TV; his eldest about to become a shtriga's dinner had overwhelmed him and then that had been blacked out by the fear that the monster could have gotten Sam. “No, it happens to all of us.” He let out a weak laugh. “don't worry.” 

“I'm still in my pajamas.” He stated as the Impala came to a stop.

“I'll get some clothes out of the trunk and we'll both change in the bathroom. Then we'll head for the nearest town for breakfast, all right?”

“Pancakes?” He unfastened his belt and pulled on his shoes where John had tossed them on the floor when they'd vacated the motel room.

“You bet.” He shut the car down. “You need some help with your laces?”

“Nope.” His son looks up at him and grins, revealing a missing tooth. “Dean taught me how to tie my shoes while you were gone working.”

John closed his eyes and thought back to three hours ago, one last look into the swollen, bloodied and defeated face of his eldest; and those green eyes; barely visible and full of pain. He swallowed, opened his eyes and got out of the car, opening the driver's side rear door so Sam can get out. The doors are all to heavy for him to open on his own. “That's great, Sammy.” He shuts the door with a bang and ruffles his son's hair. “That's really great.” 

He went around to the back of the Impala and quickly pulled a change of clothes out for Sam. When he looked back over his shoulder, a hawk raced down from its perch on a streetlamp, seized a field mouse in its talons, and few away. He shook his head to clear it and went up to join his son on the sidewalk. “So what do you want besides pancakes? Bacon or sausage?”


End file.
